I jumped, my heart pounding like I’d been caught rifling through the desk. With a hand to my racing heart, I curtsied to the duke’s friend.
“Lord Gantry.”
His jacket was well tailored on his thin frame, but civilian and simpler—no braiding, no sash. He whipped off his hat, a normal top hat, not the duke’s shako.
“Mrs. LaCroy, you and Mrs. St. Maur are doing an excellent job of whipping Hamlin into shape.”
Gripping my white apron, I curtsied again. “Thank you, Lord Gantry.”
The tall man stripped off his gloves, then called to a soldier.
An older fellow in cranberry regimentals stepped inside. “Yes, sir.”
Lord Gantry put his hat to his side. “I can’t stand women carrying things, particularly heavy bundles. I helped Mrs. St. Maur carry at least ten large platters to the scullery yesterday. Captain, if any of the ladies have need of anything, I expect you to continue to aid them. Pass the word around.”
The soldier nodded. “I’ll help where I can with my one good hand. The captain at the front door has both his. Well, most of them, just missing a thumb. But I’ll make sure everyone knows to help.”
A quick glance at his padded jacket arm confirmed the truth.
The duke hadn’t hired mercenary soldiers merely to storm Hamlin or prepare for a fake invasion. He’d employed wounded men, probably ones sent home from the fight. From the smile on this soldier’s face—his lifted jaw, the proud dimples, Repington had given them hope.
That was priceless.
That was honorable.
I choked up a little, thinking how decent of a fellow the duke was. It was most inconvenient to gain more respect for the man I was forced to deceive.
Smoothing my apron, searching for pockets in my jet gown, I cleared my throat. “Thank you, sirs. Mrs. St. Maur and I try to be industrious. And, Captain, thank the men who went down into the catacombs for supplies.”
“Just make some more of that sweet bread, and we’ll be at your service.”
His easy posture returned to attention, and he saluted the viscount, then moved to the door.
I pulled a cloth from my pocket and began wiping smudges from the sideboard. When I turned, Lord Gantry was still there.
“Is there something you wanted, sir?”
“Nothing,” he said. He fingered the ribbon anchoring his shoulder-length hair, brownish chestnut and wild if not for the ebony tie. “You remind me of someone. Coconut bread, that was a particular favorite of hers.”
The distant look in his blue-gray eyes—he wasn’t thinking of my masquerading as a footman. He’d lost someone dear.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” I said, before I could stop myself. “It’s always difficult missing someone.”
The viscount nodded. “You just don’t know how much you miss a person or what you’ll miss until they are gone.”
He blinked and startled as he’d realized he’d been wistful aloud. “My apologies.”
Lord Gantry withdrew at a fast clip, disappearing into the hall.
I moved to the pianoforte, swiping at the dust. The trust documents my father gave me were hidden in the big desk in the false back, a compartment I’d found within my first ten months at Hamlin, while Colin visited Town.
There had to be enough money in the trust that I could draw quickly to secure passage for three to Demerara.
With the duke heading here any moment, I couldn’t get them now and risk being caught and looking like a thief. Timing was everything. When it was right, I’d have them.
Away from here, I could stop dreaming and asking those questions about Colin, about Colin and me, about what went wrong. And I certainly needed to be gone from Hamlin before I started asking questions about upstanding dukes and the nannies who fancied them.
My cloth had become dark with dust. The olive patina of the pianoforte’s lid shined when given proper care. I swiveled to the mirror to do the same.
